Creativity
by sheisbeautiful-sheisnotme
Summary: A bit of my own pain, written through my favorite character, Rogue. it's good, i promise!


"Hmm. Maybe this time I should try something new," Rogue thought. For the first time in days, she was finally alone in her room. In fact, most of the mansion was empty. It was towards summer, and most of the students needed new clothes, seeing as how they had either grown out of them, or they had been ruined beyond recognition. Rogue wanted to go with, but she knew opportunities like this didn't come very often. She only needed new fishnets anyways, and she could wait.

Since she was alone, Rogue chose to take off her green mesh top, allowing her skin to breathe, as it were. She removed her gloves, too, so her skin could feel the cool metal.

It was known among the students that a few had turned to self-harm. Jean had ceased eating for a day or two, but Scott noticed, confronted her about it, so she gave up her anorexic ways.

Kitty had a few scars on her legs, from cutting herself in the shower. At first, as with many, it was an accident. She was quite upset at Lance: she had seen his arms around some blond bimbo. She hadn't even noticed the small bit of blood dripping down her leg. When she did, she found that she felt a bit better, so she did it a few more times. Though, after a minute of reveling in her discovery, she was nearly horrified, so she grabbed a towel and stopped the bleeding. She never told anyone about it, fearing their reaction.

Scott, the team's leader, hurt himself mentally. After every mission, or even Danger Room session, would take each and every mistake personally. It did not matter whose mistake it was. He would tell himself had he done something different, these mistakes would not have been made. Over and over, he obsessed with these thoughts, yelling at himself for not being clever enough to prevent such flaws from happening.

Even Logan had resorted to this sort of behavior. Well, from what he could remember. Though it was for different reasons than the students. Years ago, he wanted to see just how far his abilities could go. He took a lighter, and proceeded to burn his skin; first his fingertips, then moving to his forearm. In his eyes, one could see the flame, of both the lighter and the thrill. He finally stopped, and watched his body slowly heal the welts that had formed. He knew what he had done was a bit childish, ere go he never did it again. Nevertheless, he thought of it every so often, especially when he heard rumors of the students turning to such behavior.

Even still, nothing compared to what Rogue had done in her life. She had first heard of cutting when she was thirteen, in a health class. The teacher told her class that it was a horrible thing, and if anyone there knew someone who did this, they should tell an adult. They were informed that there were signs of these practices; the most common was wearing long sleeves. At those words, all eyes flickered to Rogue, who was fully covered by that time. Proving them wrong, she pulled on her sleeves and showed them smooth, pale flesh, with absolutely no marks. "So screw y'all and your conclusions," she retorted. While the teacher moved on with her lesson plan, her thoughts drifted to her friend and classmate, Jason. She realized that he, too, very often was wearing a hoodie. She glanced at him, and saw a worried look in his eyes. They looked at each other, and she understood. Taking out a piece of paper, she wrote _your secret's safe with me_. She folded it, stood up to walk to the pencil sharpener, and left the note on his desk. Returning to her desk, Jason gave her a brief smile, knowing he would not be in trouble.

A few months later, the solitary life that was forced upon her was causing her feel unwanted. Knowing that Irene would be of no help to her, she instead went downstairs into the kitchen. Opening the junk drawer, she found what she was searching for: the box cutter. Returning to her room, she turned on her desk light, then rolled up her left sleeve. Pausing only briefly, she put the blade to her virgin skin, and made a small mark. Feeling somewhat better, but not enough, she made another cut, and another. She looked down at her forearm with a grim satisfaction.

Throughout the years, she tried many different things: burns, bruises, even going so far as to breaking her wrist. But, she found the use of a blade provided the best release.

Rogue learned quickly to hide her marks, and to vary from place to place, but always staying away from the wrist. The wrist represented suicide, something she did not want to contemplate, since Jason had killed himself by bleeding out of his wrists.

When she arrived at the institute, she tried to quit, first going cold turkey, then limiting it to no more than twice a week. Neither worked. She refused to speak to anyone about it; it simply wasn't in her nature to ask for help. Whenever the pain in her life got too much for her, she would shy away from people, hide in her room, and cut herself.

This time, she had fallen into a bout of severe depression. This was not uncommon for her, though it was not often the driving cause of her pain. That morning, she could barely drag herself out of bed, despite the twelve hours sleep she got. In school, she never looked up from her seat, merely staring at her desk. The teachers did not notice; the only time they remembered she was in their class was when they handed out tests for the students. As for the students, from the Institute, that is, they assumed she was just in a funk. Little did they know she was having an intense verbal war with her mind.

At the end of the day, she declined the offer of a car ride home, preferring to walk. She was still struggling to find some way out of her emotional state. Trudging up the stairs in the mansion, she gave a slight nod to the instructors when they acknowledged her presence.

Finally in her room, she let her bag slip to the ground and walked to her nightstand. In the drawer lay her diary. Little did anyone know she had ceased using it years ago. Actually, what lay in there was her razor, the one she had brought with her from Mississippi, to the Brotherhood house, and finally to her current residence. Smiling faintly, she sat on her bed, back to the door. "Hmm. Maybe this time I should try something new," Rogue thought. So, she turned her arm so that she was able see her shoulder as best she could. Placing the razor to her skin, she contemplated, then pierced her skin, making small but varied strokes.

When she was finished, she looked at the newest evidence of self-harm: she had made a star. Unfortunately, it had gone deeper than she intended, so she saw white in some of the incisions. She was not too worried, having seen white before; but it was something to try to avoid. Sitting still, she stared at the blood that was dripping down her arm.

Unnoticed by Rogue, one of the Institute's teachers had crept up to her room, and stood outside her room. He was drawn there because he smelled blood, Rogue's blood. He had to assume she was alone, since there was no sign of anyone else entering the premise. Once he arrived at her bedroom, he paused, shocked by the sight of his favorite student harming herself.

Rogue had no idea that someone was standing in the doorway; she was too caught up in the sight of the blood. It had finally clotted, after five minutes of bleeding. She sighed, then moved to stand up and get a towel and bandage to clean herself with. Once reaching the door, she was met with a pair of dark brown eyes, eyes showing concern and hurt in them.

A.N.- ah yes. Another one-shot. Though I could have it be more. What do you guys think? Should there be more?


End file.
